


where there remains but a mark

by mallyrn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beleg POV, Fix-It, Non-Graphic Smut, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallyrn/pseuds/mallyrn
Summary: So can we be friends, sweetly, before the mystery ends? / I love you more than the world can contain in it lonely and ramshackle head.Beleg, Túrin, and a happier ending.





	where there remains but a mark

**Author's Note:**

> title from John My Beloved - Sufjan Stevens  
(I snuck my Túrin gender headcanon in, because I can’t use anything other than they/them pronouns for that absolute disaster. It’s basically illegal.)  
My artist is the lovely zelvuska, who drew #34 - Evening at Amon Rudh. She also drew the art of Túrin in a flower crown! Thanks so much, pal, ily!

i. --  
  
The Sun was dipping low on the horizon when Beleg found his stormcloud, perched on a stone outcrop that seemed to be pointing out where the Moon would rise. Their legs dangled off the edge, feet occasionally kicking stones down the steep hillside. Beleg heard the rasp of a whetstone against Túrin’s favorite knife.  
  
The elf watched them for a moment, standing safely in a small doorway carved into the rock. He wondered why this particular place had a hallway leading up to it, but then the wind picked up and snatched at the circlet of flowers in his hand, reminding him of his mission.  
  
Softly, so as not to disturb them, Beleg called, “Meleth! Come here. I have something for you.” Túrin glanced up and smiled crookedly at the sight of their friend.   
  
“Alright,” they said, just as soft, scooting away from the jagged edge and pulling themself to their feet. Beleg ran his fingers over the _ seregon’s _red petals as he waited for Túrin to join him in the doorway.  
  
Túrin’s stormy gray eyes were curious as they leaned against the far wall. “So? What’s this?” They gestured lazily at the circle of rusty red _ seregon _in Beleg’s hand. Grinning, the elf lifted it upwards and dropped it down onto Túrin’s head.  
  
They sputtered indignantly, unable to get their mixed protests and playful insults out fast enough. For a short, strange moment, Beleg imagined kissing them to shut them up.  
  
Instead, he snickered, “I just thought you might look good in red.” And they did - but not _just _in the flowers. The rosy color rising in their cheeks looked just as nice. Again, Beleg felt the urge to kiss them. This time around, the feelings were deeper, more primal. Less restrained. It did not help when Túrin, having recovered their ability to speak, tilted their head back a fraction and lowered long, dark lashes to brush against their high cheekbones. “And do I?” they asked in a low voice.

[Túrin with a crown of Seregon flowers](https://meesha-art.tumblr.com/post/187244566513/t%C3%BArin-with-a-crown-of-seregon-flowers-part-2-of) \- by zelvuska

_Elbereth help me_, Beleg thought, his mind running a little slower than usual in the face of Túrin’s meaningless flirtations. He told himself that it was just a little game they were playing, nothing more. Somehow, he managed to respond, _ evenly _, “You do indeed.” 

Túrin’s face flushed again, and they looked to be at a loss for words. The silence that fell was thick and awkward, so much that Beleg, for the third time that evening, wondered if kissing them would do anything.

He still didn’t know why this place was important enough to have its own door. But it didn’t really matter to him, not anymore

ii. ---

Later that evening, Beleg found his stormcloud again, this time inside the halls, bundled in blankets beside a small fire. They looked more melancholy than usual. The elf stepped forward to join them.

“Meleth?” Beleg murmured, settling himself across from Túrin, and peering at them over the licking flames. “What troubles you?” For a long moment, Túrin remained pensively silent, gazing into the crackling red-orange depths, as if they thought to see their future if they stared hard enough.

Túrin’s gray eyes reflected the firelight as they finally replied. “Many things.” They didn’t elaborate any further, and Beleg thought it wise not to push.

He wouldn’t have had to, anyways. Túrin raised their head and stared imploringly at the elf’s face. “I… I like someone,” they confessed, picking nervously at a loose thread in one of the blankets. Beleg swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, not entirely sure why he felt so disappointed. 

While he wondered what to say, Túrin continued speaking in soft, dreamy tones. “He has become very dear to me, with his gentle hands, and silky hair, and his sparkling green eyes that light up whenever he laughs.” Beleg watched as Túrin moved to lay on their side, tugging the blankets down around their shoulders. He felt lonelier than ever.

[Evening at Amon Rudh](https://meesha-art.tumblr.com/post/187244512688/evening-at-amon-r%C3%BBdh-part-1-of-tolkien-reverse) \- by zelvuska

His stormcloud tapped their fingertips restlessly on the ground, pausing to collect their thoughts. “He… he is an elf, from Doriath,” they murmured, and Beleg’s head whipped up to stare at his friend.

“Who?” he asked, a little angrily. Túrin jumped, looking up in surprise, and their eyes met. Beleg saw the answer in his stormcloud’s gaze and silently cursed his stupidity, even before Túrin spoke.

“You, of course!” They broke off to laugh at the expression on his face, then added, “You didn’t seriously think there was _ another _ elf of Doriath loitering around Amon Rûdh, did you?” Well. When they put it that way, Beleg could see, with even greater clarity, how absolutely _ idiotic _he had been in that moment. 

But Túrin was rolling onto their back, shaking as they cackled gleefully at his misinterpretation, and yet again, Beleg wanted so, _ so _badly to kiss them. Only, this time he stood and stepped around the fire, sat himself down next to the human, and waited until he had their attention. 

Then he leaned down and captured their mouth in a tender, long-awaited kiss.

iii. ---

Beleg rested his head against Túrin’s chest, listening to the beat of their strong heart. His stormcloud draped an arm around the elf’s shoulders, snuggling close and sharing their body heat. 

The nights in Bar-en-Danwedh were unusually chilly - although, Beleg suspected that their less-than-agreeable host was able to keep his own chambers toasty warm. The outlaws had to huddle for warmth, even now, in the months _ before _winter. 

Túrin must have sensed his displeasure, because Beleg felt his greatest love plant a kiss down on the top of his head. The marchwarden couldn’t stay upset with anyone, not when Túrin was holding him so tightly in their arms.

One of the human’s hands came to rest on Beleg’s hip. The elf twisted around to brush soft kisses across whatever skin he could reach. Túrin’s tunic was part-way open, exposing their chest, and they hummed appreciatively under their companion’s lips.

Beleg felt the hand leave his hip, and a few moments later, long fingers tangled themselves in his silver braids. His back arched sensually, and he sighed against the smooth skin of his stormcloud’s chest.

iv. ---

"Beleg! Beleg, come quickly! Neithan is hurt!"

At first, the name that the outlaws knew Túrin by didn't register with the marchwarden. After a confused pause, his blood turned to ice. _ Túrin is hurt. _

He tore through the halls, following the sound of Andróg's voice. The three words rattled around in his head, colliding with the frantic, worried thoughts that skittered like frightened mice across his brain. _ Túrin is hurt. How badly? Will they die before I get the chance to make a life with them? Is this the last day I'll ever spend with them? _

Beleg turned a corner and nearly collided with Andróg. The man's wild brown curls seemed even more disheveled, if that were possible. He grabbed the elf's shoulders, barely coherent, and gasped, "Thank the gods you're here! The orcs came outta nowhere! We were almost overrun, and one of 'em took a piece out of Neithan's leg and-" 

Beleg took the front of the man's tunic in a vice-like grip and shook him. "Calm down, and tell me where Neithan is!" 

With an ashen face, Andróg jerked one thumb over his shoulder. "Back there."

The elf released him and turned to look, almost afraid of what he would see.

His poor Túrin was supported between two of the outlaws, holding their left leg off the ground and grimacing with every step. "Hi, Beleg," they said in a tight, painful voice. "It is nothing, really. Didn't hit anything important." They had a raw, bleeding cut on the side of their thigh, near their hip-bone. Beleg shooed the two outlaws away and wound one arm around his stormcloud's waist.

"You absolute _ idiot _," he hissed. "You could have been killed!" Túrin scoffed in his ear, leaning their head against his shoulder. When they spoke, their voice sounded dull and exhausted.

"I couldn't sit idle and let my men be slaughtered," they muttered hoarsely. Beleg set his jaw and scooped them up into his arms, carrying them bridal style. "Hey!" They protested.

Beleg merely adjusted his grip. "I am not going to make you walk any further, meleth-nin," he growled, and marched them both to Túrin's room. 

Túrin griped and complained the entire way, but Beleg's ears stayed stubbornly closed. 

\---

It had been easier than expected to find a needle and clean thread in Mîm's subterranean dwelling. The wound wasn't anywhere near as deep as he and Andróg had initially thought, and Beleg soon had it disinfected, stitched closed, and covered with an herbal paste that smelled vaguely like something was stabbing him in the nose.

He decided to let it air out as much as possible, and told Túrin not to cover it with their blankets when they slept. His stormcloud stuck their tongue out at him like a rude child, so the elf wasn't sure they'd listened to his advice.

As he cleaned the blood off his hands, he heard Túrin shift impatiently in the bed behind him. "Beleg," they whined. "Come to bed."

Beleg snorted. It seemed that even injury and exhaustion couldn't lessen his lover's immense appetites. "No, meleth-nin," he sighed, ignoring his own body's response to the tone of Túrin's voice, "You need to rest, and be careful about your leg. Your… ah, preferred position in such activities... would put it at risk."

Túrin grumbled. "It'd be worth it."

Beleg just sighed.

\---

After making sure Túrin was asleep, Beleg stepped outside to stretch his legs. He was met by an awkward and concerned Andróg.

"Will he - I mean, they, be alright?" The outlaw inquired softly, blushing scarlet as he stumbled over the correct pronouns. 

Beleg smiled sympathetically, remembering when Túrin had asked the outlaws to call them by neutral pronouns, and how Andróg had been the most dedicated to adapting his way of thinking to compensate. He might not have liked Beleg all that much, not at first, but after seeing how well the elf looked out for the outlaws' leader, they'd become more or less friends. 

"They will be fine, if they manage to find the sense to keep still and not do anything that could damage them further." Beleg rubbed his temples, exasperated. Andróg made a noise that was half relieved, and half amused. 

"So we shouldn't get our hopes up, then," he joked wryly, making the elf smirk.

"Do not give up on them so easily. They will stay in their bed, or so help me I will tie them down to it." Andróg might not realize it, but that was the wrong thing to say, especially after Túrin's earlier demands. Beleg rubbed at his eyes to hide his reddening face. "Well, I had better go get some rest. You can tell everyone that Neithan will be alright, and not to worry." 

The man nodded and went away to pass on the news. Beleg groaned despairingly and started the search for a quiet place to sleep and… do some other things.

v. ---

Beleg slept alone that night, not wanting to risk aggravating Túrin's wounds. 

When he awoke the next morning, he was startled to see Mîm standing over him. He leaped up and aside, ready to defend himself, but the petty-dwarf just stared at him scornfully.

"Your… _ friend _ is awake and asking for you," the dwarf finally grunted. From the tone of his voice, it was clear that he knew something of Beleg and Túrin's frequent excursions alone into the surrounding woods. Beleg felt his face heating up, but he refused to acknowledge the bait that Mîm had thrown him.

Instead, he inclined his head politely and answered, "Thank you," with a deceptively mild expression. Then he strode confidently past the dwarf and onward to the small guestroom that Túrin had been given to sleep in.

Mîm watched him go with a shifty expression on his pinched, unfriendly face. Beleg tried very hard to seem as if he wasn't watching the dwarf in turn.

When he arrived at his destination, Túrin was sitting up in bed and staring expectantly at the door. To Beleg's immense relief, they had taken his advice and kept the blankets off of their wound. The fabric was gathered in a heap around their middle, and their hair was sweetly ruffled from sleep.

They glared at him as he entered. "About time you showed. I've been bored to tears in here."

"Good," Beleg retorted, stung by their hostility. "At least you stayed in bed like I told you to. If I had known you possessed that much sense, I might not have been kept up half the night from worrying about your sorry ass." 

Túrin dropped their gaze guiltily. "I am sorry, Beleg," they murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I - I just hate to seem weak...."

Beleg winced and came to sit next to them, smoothing their dark hair away from their face. "I am sorry, too, for being so short with you." He leaned forward and briefly kissed them on the lips. Túrin sighed and nudged their nose against his, which made him smile.

A quiet noise at the door made the hair on the back of Beleg's neck prickle. He looked up, but as far as he could tell, nobody was there.

A shiver ran down his spine. One of Túrin's warm, rough hands came up to the side of his face and gently moved his attention back to them. "What's wrong, meleth-nin?" At any other time, the Sindarin words in their husky Mannish accent would have caused many pleasant sensations to awaken all across his body. But now, Beleg was too distracted and worried.

His brows knit together in concern. "I do not know," he whispered, and risked one last glance at the doorway.

This time, Mîm's beady eyes flashed in the darkness as the dwarf ducked out of sight. 

\---

That evening, Mîm was nowhere to be found, and neither was his son, Ibun.

Beleg took Andróg aside to ask him about it. The outlaw scowled. "They _ said _ they were going to find some kind of edible root for the winter stores, but that was late this morning. You saying that they aren't back yet?"

Impatiently, Beleg nodded. "Yes, that is what I'm saying. Did they tell you where exactly they were going to look for these roots?"

"Nope. They got all defensive and shifty when I asked 'em, but then again, that's how they always get when we try to speak to them at all." Andróg shrugged, but his eyes were distant and thoughtful. He wandered off to confer with the others, and Beleg heard the words "our hosts" and "conniving little rats." He snorted, half amused by that particular description of Mîm and his son.

It soon became clear that nobody had any idea where the dwarves had gone, or when they would be back. As the half-moon rose in the sky, Beleg went to give Túrin the news, then crawled under the blankets with his stormcloud and watched them fall asleep.

His own eyelids growing heavy, he forced himself to forget about Mîm and catch up on his sleep.

vi. ---

The next morning, the sound of orc-horns startled them awake. Beleg all but threw himself out of bed and frantically pulled his clothes on. Behind him, Túrin was doing the same.

Their eyes met for a second, and his stormcloud wryly commented, "Well, it looks like we won't be sleeping in today." Beleg wondered how they could be so calm. His heart was pounding violently in his chest, and he'd seen far more battles than the young human.

Túrin buckled their Mannish sword to their belt and started out the bedroom door. Beleg had no choice but to follow, once he'd grabbed Anglachel.

Outside, they were met by Túrin's lieutenant, Andróg. The outlaw's face was grim and angry. He met Beleg's eyes and said, "Our host has betrayed us."

Beleg nodded to him. "I'm not surprised." 

Túrin bowed their head, looking a little bit guilty. Before they could say anything self-deprecating, Beleg thumped them encouragingly on the back. "Come, meleth-nin! We have orcs to kill, or would you rather sit on your ass and mope while they destroy the place?"

His stormcloud's gray eyes flashed with new energy at the elf's playful taunt. "I might leave some for you," they snickered, "because I love you so much, and wouldn't want you to feel left out." They stood up on their toes and kissed Beleg on the cheek, before turning to charge down the hall. Andróg flushed tomato-red and followed them.

Beleg lingered for a moment, blinking in bewilderment, and gently touched the place where Túrin's lips had pressed against his skin. 

"Come _ on _!" The one in question called impatiently. Laughing to himself, Beleg started down the hall after them.

\---

The seregon was drenched in the outlaws' blood.

Beleg remembered how excited he'd been by the ruby-red flowers, making them into a crown and setting it stop Túrin's head. They'd looked so beautiful, that evening, illuminated by pale silvery moonlight as they blushed pink under his admiring gaze.

That evening could have been an Age ago, for all he knew. Surrounded by screams and the sickly smell of blood, Beleg wondered if he would ever see his stormcloud look so peaceful and lovely again. It didn't seem likely.

Anglachel was hissing furiously in his hand, just as upset as it's wielder. _ Protect them, kill anyone who touches them, protect, kill, kill! _

The blade jumped, seemingly of its own accord, to parry a blow from a roughly made orc-sword. The force of it jarred Beleg's arms painfully, and he gritted his teeth against the discomfort.

The orc drew back and swung again. This time, Anglachel hung heavy in his grip, just as exhausted as he was. The jagged sword cut a white-hot line of pain across his chest. Beleg screamed in agony and fell back. Anglachel clattered to the ground beside him. The orc triumphantly raised it's sword, ready to stab down into his stomach.

A familiar Mannish sword sprouted from the monster's chest. It gurgled up a trickle of black blood and tipped forwards, falling across Anglachel's dark blade.

Above Beleg, Túrin tossed their head, flinging sweat-drenched hair away from their eyes. Then they froze. "Beleg?" They whispered, horrified.

Beleg tried to answer, to tell them that it would be alright, that he loved them more than anything in the world. He tried to ask for one last kiss. But he couldn't make himself speak fast enough.

A net cascaded down around Túrin's head and shoulders. They shouted in anger and surprise, fighting to free themself, even as three big orcs grabbed them from behind and dragged him off. Watching helplessly, Beleg wept in silence.

The screams had all gone silent. Túrin's cries grew fainter as their captors retreated. A stout, hunched shape was picking it's way carefully through the corpses, bulbous nose wrinkled in distaste. _ Mîm _. Beleg growled softly, and the petty-dwarf's gaze snapped up to meet his.

The little villain crept closer, glancing down at Anglachel's hilt, then back to Beleg. He lunged suddenly forward and pulled the sword out from under the dead orc, then took a step toward Beleg.

A burst of rage as red as the bloodstained seregon burned through the elf's veins, lending him strength. He lurched to his feet, faster than Mîm even in his wounded state, and swiped the sword right out of the dwarf's hands. Beleg thrust the blade at Mîm, making the dwarf squeal and jump back in terror. Beleg motioned with the sword's point and rasped, "_ Run _."

Mîm ran, which was a smart move.

"The vengeance of the house of Hador will find you yet!" Beleg cried out after him, then doubled over and coughed up a spray of blood on the stone where the dwarf had just been. Brought to his knees, he felt a morbid sense of amusement at this, just before exhaustion and blood loss took its toll. Beleg slouched forward in a dead faint. 

\---

As if by some miracle, he was not dead.

He could feel all his arms and legs, and his face was still pressed against the sticky red stone he had fallen upon.

With a groan, Beleg carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. The cut on his chest twinged painfully, but did not reopen, and when he felt for its jagged edges, it had already sealed up. There was still the possibility that he could damage himself further, though, so he dared not try and stand just yet.

After cleaning and sheathing Anglachel, Beleg crawled to the entrance of Bar-en-Danwedh on his hands and knees. He needed food, water, and healing herbs, and he would have to gather some supplies together if he wanted to go after Túrin.

His stormcloud was still alive, he was sure of it. He just hoped that he could find them in time. 

Soon, he was able to stand again. Tottering forward on unsteady legs, Beleg went first to the dining hall. Thankfully, the orcs hadn't seemed interested in their supplies. Their enemies wouldn't need to eat if they were dead, so what did it matter? The elf almost laughed. _ Their mistake. _

Once he'd treated his wound with sharp-smelling herbs, and packed enough lembas to last him a fortnight, he left, heading steadily northward.

vii. ---

Beleg frowned worriedly at the battered elf sitting before him. "You say your name is Gwindor?" The elf's hair was streaked with gray, and there were dark circles under his sunken brown eyes. He was painfully thin, and one hand was badly scarred.

Beleg offered him a large section of a lembas wafer, but the elf did not immediately take it, glancing apprehensively between it and the one who offered it to him. "Are you sure?" Gwindor asked, his voice hoarse and quiet, then flinched awkwardly away. "I mean…"

"I'm sure," Beleg insisted patiently. He watched as Gwindor gingerly took the lembas from his outstretched hand, bringing it to his mouth and nibbling delicately at one end.

Beleg let him eat for a moment, and was about to ask if he'd possibly seen Túrin, when Gwindor lifted his head and softly inquired, "Are you tracking the band of orcs that passed here recently? They nearly found me, but I hid myself in a young tree that smelled strongly of sap, to disguise my scent. They had a Man with them - dark hair, pale skin, cursing very creatively." 

Amazement and relief swept violently through Beleg, rendering him speechless for a good long while. He took a deep breath, then another. "Yes. The Man is my… friend, Túrin. They were captured, and the rest of our company killed."

Gwindor blinked confusedly at Beleg's use of 'they,' then shrugged and continued. "Your friend won't be alive for much longer, if… _ they _ are being taken to Angband. I am not sure how I survived, let alone escaped. Most do not." He shuddered slightly, fixing his gaze on the ground. 

Beleg swallowed his fear and frustration and implored, "Please, will you not show me the way? I _ must _ find my Túrin again. If they were to die before… before their time, I fear that I may fade."

The scarred elf stared at him for a long time. Then, a hint of understanding came into his eyes. "They are not just your friend, are they?" Before the former marchwarden could respond, Gwindor stumbled to his feet. "I will lead you to Angband, then, but only because I know how it feels to be separated from the one you love, and I would not wish such a feeling upon any other."

Grateful beyond measure, Beleg stood, also. "Thank you," he whispered, "thank you from the bottom of my heart."

\---

They trekked through the dark, forbidding forest of Taur-nu-Fuin for the next two days, following the orcs' trail. Sometimes, they would find small splashes of Túrin's blood across the fallen leaves, and Beleg's heart would cry out in anguish at the sight.

But still the two elves went on, often stumbling in exhaustion, until the trees thinned out and suddenly they were under open sky. The air was choked by fumes from the Enemy's forges, and wolves howled ominously in the distance.

"Ai, Elbereth," Beleg swore quietly, gazing wide-eyed at what could only be Angband, currently a dark misshapen stain at the foot of three active volcanoes - _ Thangorodrim _.

Was Túrin in that fortress? Beleg quietly despaired.

Then Gwindor drew his attention to a campfire at the edge of the trees. He could hear harsh orc-voices as they laughed and jeered at one another. "There," the elf murmured. "They've set wolves to watch the camp - four of them."

Lightning glinted on the horizon. Beleg drew Anglachel, and started prowling forward. Gulping audibly, Gwindor followed.

\---

The last wolf fell dead, hitting the ground as silently as its three kindred had. Beleg slung Belthronding over his shoulder, and crept lightly towards a dark shape slumped against the foot of a tree, just beyond the reach of the fire-light.

It was Túrin, battered and unconscious, but still living. Beleg bit his lip to keep from weeping aloud. Gwindor knelt next to them and cut the ropes that bound them to the tree, leaving Beleg free to lift his stormcloud up and carry them away from the camp.

They hadn't gone far when the shuffling footsteps of an orc sounded from the trees in front of them. Beleg quickly set Túrin down and drew Anglachel again. When the creature emerged from the woods, he sprung forward, ready to kill it as quietly as possible.

The orc jumped aside in terror, drawing a dagger from its belt and thrusting it at its attacker. The blade slipped cleanly between two of Beleg's ribs. Blood splashed hot and sticky down his side. He stumbled.

There was a dark blur and the sound of rending flesh, and the orc went very still. Slowly, its head tilted to one side and fell off its body, bouncing once and then rolling aside. The rest of it fell soon after.

Gwindor stood stiffly behind it, his good hand curled around Anglachel's hilt.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the scarred elf flinched. Holding his side, Beleg stumbled over to where Túrin lay, kneeling at their side. He shook his stormcloud until their gray eyes opened, wild with terror.

They shrank away from him, then blinked rapidly and whispered, "Beleg?"

Beleg managed a smile, even as his vision turned dangerously black at the edges, and responded, "Hello, meleth-nin."

Black spots burst behind his eyes, and he collapsed, exhausted and wounded, across his lover's body.

\---

A pair of calloused hands swept hair away from his face. "Beleg?" Túrin's lips brushed against his forehead, soft and familiar. "Beleg, please wake up."

Beleg tried to open his eyes. But something was wrong. Hot and cold shivers wracked his body, and his eyelids felt heavier than stone. Túrin called for him again, but he was already falling back into the dark.

\---

Beleg half-regained consciousness several times throughout the day. He was faintly aware of movement, and changes in the air around him, but he still could not open his eyes. Twice, Túrin kissed his mouth and begged him to wake up.

The world kept moving and changing, and still, his eyes would not open. As if from a distance, he heard Túrin start to cry.

\---

A cold, wet cloth was laid over his forehead, and he heard Gwindor murmur, "Hang in there, my friend. Your wound went sour, and you've been unconscious for days now. I've managed to treat you, but you are still feverish. We've reached the Pools of Ivrin. Túrin is resting, and all is well."

Beleg found that he was able to make noise again. He groaned in protest as chilly water dripped down the side of his face. Gwindor laughed softly, and the marchwarden grunted angrily.

"I am sorry, Beleg," Gwindor soothed him. "I'm just relieved to see any sort of improvement."

Beleg sighed as Gwindor's words faded away, and he was left in the dark once more.

\---

Beleg opened his eyes to a smooth stone ceiling. For a moment, he thought himself back in Bar-en-Danwedh, perhaps ready to spar with Túrin or exchange good-natured banter with Andróg. He tried to sit up, but a gentle, familiar hand caught his shoulder and eased him back down onto a soft, comfortable bed.

"Beleg? Do you know where you are?" Túrin sat at his side, carding gentle fingers through his silver hair. Their gray eyes were impossibly soft. Beleg felt a rush of affection, then confusion.

He blinked. This wasn't Bar-en-Danwedh. "No idea," he confessed, pursing his lips in mild concern.

"We're in Nargothrond," Túrin told him. "D-do you remember what happened to you?"

All of a sudden, the memory of Túrin's rescue sprang to the forefront of his mind. He stared at his stormcloud, joy rising warm and bright in his chest. "I - we - we rescued you, you're alright - oh, _ Túrin _!" 

Túrin's lips crashed wonderfully against his, and Beleg kissed clumsily back. Neither of them minded when their teeth clashed together or their lips were accidentally bitten, because they were alive and reunited, and nothing would ever be wrong on the world again.

Beleg's hands slid into Túrin's dark messy hair, lightly tugging them forward to deepen the kiss. His side twinged painfully, and he yelped. Túrin quickly withdrew and sat up. "I'm so sorry!" They gasped, examining the bandages anxiously. 

Beleg tapped their shoulder and said, "I am alright, Túrin. Kiss me again?" His injuries could wait - he had his stormcloud again, and they needed to be shown _ exactly _ how much he loved them.

Túrin only frowned at him. "Now I know how you must have felt when I was injured," they grumbled, then shrieked indignantly when Beleg grabbed their tunic and yanked them back down. "Alright, alright, I'll kiss you again, but I'm not making any promises about going further than that!"

Somehow, they ended up laying half on top of Beleg and kissing his neck. When Gwindor came in to check on Beleg, his face immediately turned magenta. "Oh, sorry… I'll just… leave…."

As the door slammed shut, Túrin smirked against Beleg's soft brown skin. "At least we don't have to worry about Mîm spying on us anymore."

"Yes," Beleg agreed, "Thank Elbereth for _ that _." He turned his head and kissed the tip of Turin's nose. "You know, come to think of it, I am actually pretty hungry. Do you have any idea when dinner is around here?"

His stormcloud snorted. "Not a clue. Why don't I keep kissing you while we wait?"

Beleg was quite happy to oblige.


End file.
